


Puck Me

by Daryl_Grimes (Loki_Likey_Thor_Odinson), Showtime (Loki_Likey_Thor_Odinson)



Category: Hockey RPF, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ice Hockey, Alternate Universe - National Hockey League, Alternate Universe - No Zombie Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - No Zombies, Chicago Blackhawks, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-11
Updated: 2015-12-17
Packaged: 2018-05-06 02:15:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5399090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loki_Likey_Thor_Odinson/pseuds/Daryl_Grimes, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loki_Likey_Thor_Odinson/pseuds/Showtime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daryl Dixon, forward for the Chicago Blackhawks, thought that the game against the Atlanta Gladiators would be easy to win, easy to gain points, easy to just complete.</p><p>What he didn't expect, was a fight on the ice to ruin him, to make him uneasy at every match - to throw him almost completely off his game.</p><p>And he definitely didn't expect Patrick's help with the aftermath.</p><p> </p><p>  <em>The NHL AU that no one asked for</em><br/><em>It is probably worth noting that I am very much accostomed to the EIHL rules for hockey - which is, to put in basic terms, the English version of the NHL. So, I do apologise if rules are wrong, please just leave a <strong>polite</strong> comment, and I can change it. I'm new to the NHL, I am still learning.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _Anything in bold writing is the commentator's speech._

Daryl heard the crowd outside in the rink and a shiver ran down his spine. Anticipation, adrenaline, excitement was already coursing around his body. His brother, just in front of him, was shaking and Daryl reached out to gently pat his shoulder, in an attempt to help him calm down. He turned around, smiling at his brother over his shoulder before the music started, and the commentator began calling their names.

 _Patrick Kane!_  
_Jonathon Towes!_  
_Ryan Garbutt!_  
_Artemi Panarin!_  
_Merle Dixon!_  
_Daryl Dixon!_

The rest of the names became white noise as Daryl threw himself to the ice, following his brother around the rink, making sure not to skate too quickly and trip him up or too slowly and trip up Hjalmarsson behind him. The sound of the stadium was deafening, and a smile slid onto Daryl’s face. He held his stick to his side and fell into formation, holding his head high.

The Atlanta Gladiators stood opposite them, their heads raised, their sticks being held in front of them. This was the Gladiators first game since they officially rejoined the NHL, and Daryl couldn’t stop himself from smirking.

The Hawks would win this game, as usual – Kane would increase his point streak from 22 to 23 and continue to make history, Daryl would follow suit and get his 12th point streak, and then they would start on their hockey tour, playing around America, and then thrash the Gladiators when they went to Georgia.

  1.   
_Easy._



A mere glance at his brother told Daryl that he was thinking the same thing, and he reached out to side-fist-bump his brother, grinning beneath his helmet.

The Hawks would climb the Standings Table tonight.

The familiar tune of the national anthem rang out and Daryl stood up straight, staring at the Gladiator opposite him. Bright blue eyes stared back at him and Daryl had to swallow before he stood up straighter. Their eyes bore straight into each other, as though they might be seeing into each other’s souls. Staring so intently at each other, Daryl forgot where he was and so jumped when the claxon sounded to signal the start of the game.

Speed skating to where he should be, he watched intently as Toews moved for the opening faceoff.

The puck dropped, and Daryl shot backwards, around the player defending him, skating around to lunge for the puck, shooting it back towards his brother before he moved towards the Gladiators’ goal. He made eye contact with Kero and he shifted to get the puck, sending it to his left, smiling when Kero grabbed it. Spinning around, he saw it slam into the net. _Chelsea Dagger_ began ringing out across the stadium and the group slammed together in celebration before they moved to high five the rest of the team, leaning over.

Moving for his own face off, Daryl exhaled softly, eyeing up the Gladiator in front of him. Everything disappeared. Everything went silent. Closing his mind off, all Daryl allowed himself to focus on was the puck.

It dropped and he swung his stick, only to growl when the Gladiator got it. He surged forward, sweeping at the puck, turning to skate backwards and attempt again, only to glide to a stop when he heard the whistle of the referee.

**And that’s number 66 for the Hawks, D. Dixon, penalised for 2 minutes for slashing!**

Daryl shook his head and shot towards the referee. “Bullshit! I was going for the puck!”

“Penalty.”

“I did not’ing wrong!”

“4 minutes.”

Someone patted his shoulder and Daryl glanced back at his brother before snarling, skating over to the penalty box to collapse into the seat.

xox

The first twenty minutes were over, the next twenty were just about to start, and Daryl couldn’t be prouder of his team. 2-0 up already, with another two periods to go. The Gladiators were struggling on the ice, struggling to work together as a team.

 _Easy fuckin’ pickings_.

Daryl defended the Gladiator behind him, keeping an eye on him as he waited for the face off. The asshole that had him taken off unfairly, the asshole that had probably bribed the referees.

  1. _  
_Click.__



His stick took the puck and he turned his best, smacking it hard in a blind panic as he realised that it was 3-on-1 play, three Gladiators trying to get the puck from him.

A claxon blared, and Daryl had to blink, listening to the sound of _Chelsea Dagger_. Silence filled the rink, and Daryl stared at the puck inside the net.

A laugh escaped him as he grinned at his brother, leaning over the side of the rink to start smashing his stick on the rink, the rest of the team following suite.

**And that was Daryl Dixon for the Blackhawks, rather** _**blindly** _ **, hitting the puck at the goal and it went in! The Hawks now have a 3 to nothing lead at the start of the second period. 14:53 left in the second. And the crowd are still going wild if any of the station listeners are wondering what’s going on. I don't think anyone can believe that goal - has anyone seen anything like that in a Blackhawks game before?**

**I know we've had a few players that haven't needed to look when they shoot in an attempt to score but I don't think we've ever seen a panic shot go in like that. I don't think he even shot for the goal. That must have been panic and adrenaline.**

Daryl skated around the edge of the rink, relishing in the crowd screaming their celebration song, even after the music had stopped. The hand that wasn’t holding his stick rose, bumping up and down, yelling the _du du du du dudu du du dududu_ with them before he turned around to stop, finding a spot to defend.

_Grimes?_

Daryl stared at the 27 on the back of the jersey of the player in front of him, narrowing his eyes. He skated forward slightly before he cleared his throat,

“You wanna get me done fer _slashing_? Watch yer back, Grimes, I can play dirty if I wanna.”

“Get your head out your ass; you’re only the team because of your brother. You suck. That goal was pure luck.”

“The fuck you say to me?”

**Christ Almighty, 66 for the Hawks, Daryl Dixon; has his fists flying towards 27 of the Gladiators, Rick Grimes! Both players have their gloves off, fists are flying, and Grimes has his helmet off!**

Daryl’s fist flew through the air, slamming into Grimes’ face, and he snarled, forcing the man to the ground. His helmet was tugged off, and his vision went white, stars slipping through his vision as he fell down. Rick was on top of him, and he felt an elbow slam into his nose. His knee bent, slamming into the side of the man’s side, sending him flying.

Merle was on top of him in seconds, and Daryl had just enough time to sit up before he was slammed down again, another Gladiator on top of him.

**That’s Merle Dixon, 89 for the Blackhawks, is now fighting 27, Grimes. Daryl Dixon, 66, Hawks, is now fighting 62, Glenn Rhee. D Dixon seems to be sporting a bloody nose, one that looks broken even up here, 14 rows up from the ice- and 4 for the Gladiators, Shane Walsh, the hot-head of the team, is helping Rhee beat the hell out of Dixon. Where are the referees?**

Whistles were blowing, but Daryl couldn’t stop. He couldn’t even defend himself. Knees, fists and elbows were raining down on him and it was all Daryl could do to curl up in the foetal position.

Hands were there, relaxing hands, calming ones, helping Daryl up.

His head was spinning, and he wasn’t sure he could breathe for a moment as he was lead to the Hawks bench.

**Daryl Dixon is down to the bench, probably to get some medical assistance. Merle Dixon, for the Hawks, and Rick Grimes, Shane Walsh and Glenn Rhee for the Gladiators are penalised 5 minutes each for fighting. No doubt that Daryl will be taking 5 minutes himself when he comes back to the ice.** _**If** _ **he comes back to the ice, his face looks pretty messed up.** **  
**That’s Hawks on the Power Play.****

**Not much on that Power Play. Hawks have three skaters on the ice, where the Gladiators have two. Play is being suspended for ice maintenance - bear with us whilst we have that blood chipped out of the ice.**

Ice was pressed to Daryl’s nose and he winced, trying not to yell out. He was dizzy, and he had to reach out and grab hold of Toews, before he fell backwards, everything going black.


	2. Chapter 2

Daryl groaned, feeling the pounding in his head speed up, going double time, and he had to take a minute to open his eyes.

His Captain, Toews, was kneeling by him, concern written on his face. He could see the remaining Hawks on the ice peering over, all worried. Even the Gladiators seemed concerned, skating by to have a look, worry on their faces.

“I’m fine, Cap. I’m fine, go and play.”

There was the sound of arguing and a thud – the barriers wobbled and then Merle was skating off the ice, collapsing by his brother’s side. Daryl gave him a cheesy grin, using Merle to sit up straight, breathing heavily.

“I’m fine, guys. I think I might have to take the rest of the second period out-”

“You’re taking the rest of the game out. You need to go to the hospital.”

“Captain, no offence, but I’m _fine_. I don’t need to go to the hospital; I just need an ice pack, aspirin and some coffee. I can play in the third period and any overtime or shoot offs. Merle, get yer ass back in the penalty box, Toews get yer ass back on the ice, and let’s wipe the ice with the Gladiators.”

**So, just to keep everyone informed in what’s happened. Daryl Dixon, number 66 for the Chicago Blackhawks, went off the ice for medical attention, thanks to the blow Gladiators number 27, Rick Grimes, gave him. He collapsed and passed out. But he’s sitting up, he seems to be talking; seems to be** _**sassing** _ **his Captain from over here. He seems a little shaky but Merle Dixon, 89 for the Hawks, is going back to the penalty box, directed by his brother, no doubt. Jonathon Toews, number 19 for the Hawks and their Captain-**

**One of the youngest Captains in NHL history, let’s not forget, Mike.**

**One of the youngest, yes; he seems hesitant to go back to the ice. He’s having conversations with Coach Q, and Daryl seems dazed from where he’s sitting. He’s a good Captain. Probably trying to convince Dixon to go to the hospital. Anyone else remember the Stanley Cup?**

**Oh yes. Daryl fell and split the skin over his eyebrow. Refused to go to the hospital. Played on in the second but stayed off in the third because blood kept getting into his eyes. Went to the hospital the next day, ended up staying for a week before of an infection he managed to contract in it over night.**

**Brent Seabrook, number 7, is kneeling next to Dixon, making sure he stays upright from the looks of things. And Toews is back on the ice, calling the Hawks around for a quick team talk. Both teams on the penalty kill remember, and Hawks are still on the penalty play.**

Fans were getting restless with the holdup and Daryl pulled a face, pushing Seabrook off of him. Shakily, he forced himself to his feet and took a step, gathering his bearings. Cheers went up around the rink as people watched him stand, he even managed to smirk at some woman screaming _I love you Daryl!_

He had a penalty to kill; if not, then his team would be a player down on the ice; it wouldn't be fair to make his team mates sit his penalty out for him, injured or not.

Glancing around, the face off hadn’t started yet, and Daryl took his chance, setting his skate on the ice and shooting off towards the penalty box.

**It’s Toews in the face off against- oh my god, Daryl Dixon is getting back on the ice, merely five minutes after passing out and collapsing, he is getting back onto the ice. Everyone’s looking around wondering if this kid is going insane.**

**Maybe that blow to the head knocked some IQ away.**

**Maybe it did, maybe it did- he’s skating to the penalty box and he’s taken a seat directly next to his brother. Linesman is heading over, finding out what’s going on. Discussions are taking place.**

“Dixon, you can’t be on the ice.”

“I ain’t on the ice. I’m in the penalty box, taking my penalty for fighting, and then we can get Kane on and whoop their asses and I can go sit on the sidelines and recover, and then get back on the ice for the third period. I owe Grimes a goal. Simple as. Let them play.”

Daryl watched the linesman, eyebrow raised before he shifted to lean forward, giving himself something to lean on.

**66 for the Blackhawks, that’s Daryl Dixon, forward for the Hawks, taking his 5 minute penalty for fighting and roughing. And after some discussions, 27 for the Gladiators, Rick Grimes’ penalty time has gone up. That’s 27, Rick Grimes for the Atlanta Gladiators taking 12 minutes for misconduct instead of five. Another of his team will more than likely take the last 2 minutes; I'll be surprised if we see Grimes again in the second period.**

**I'm with you, Mike; I doubt he'll be leaving that locker room before the start of the third period. Game play resumes.**

Daryl leant against the glass, letting his eyes close as the pounding in his head got worse. Merle’s hand was there, rubbing his brother’s shoulder.

“Yer need to go t’hospital, Daryl.”

“I’ll go tomorrow if I need to.”

“Daryl, last time this happened yer coulda died from an infection.”

“I didn’t, I’m still here, and I ain’t leaving the team right now. If I still feel shit at the end of the game, then I’ll go, but right now, I can still play for the team, and I ain’t abandoning us.”

xox

**Welcome back Hawks fans, we’re nearing the end of the third period, just 4:27 left in this game, and the Hawks are massacring the Gladiators – little ironic there – with 7 goals to 2. The Gladiators have just four minutes – three now, to get 5 goals just to send the game into overtime.**

**For all the fans that have a Daryl Addixon, Daryl Dixon has been back on the ice, he has been playing after passing out during the second. He saw his penalty through and then sat with the medics for the remainder of the second. He didn’t initially come out at the start of the third period, then again, neither did Toews, so we assume that he was trying to convince his man not to come out and go to the hospital, but we all know what Daryl is like. Toews might have to frog march him down there after the match.**

**In a summary of the third period, Rick Grimes managed to score the two goals the Gladiators have, increasing his points pretty damn well, I would say. Patrick Kane, the HurriKane has scored for the Blackhawks, increasing his point streak and making Blackhawks** _**history** _ **. Daryl Dixon has scored again, this time, not by panic and luck but by actually shooting for the goal – although that was an amazing shot he made back in the second period.**

**Toews took a goal, and Seabrook scoring two, giving the Hawks a** _**massive** _ **lead, coming to the end of the third period.**

**And as we speak, Shane Walsh has just scored for the Gladiators, that’s Walsh, 4 for the Gladiators, has just scored the third goal for the Gladiators – but is it going to help them at all- IT MIGHT NOT BUT GRIMES' THIRD GOAL OF THE GAME DEFINITELY MIGHT HELP.**

**Grimes was a sign on from Kentucky, no one thought this guy would hold his own out, but I tell you, he is fast going to be one of the Gladiators top scorers for this season. Hope to see him next year, he’s a good kid.**

**There’s just a minute left in this game, and the score stands 7-4 to the Hawks. Kane going in for another shot but the claxon sounds before he can shoot. The Hawks have won in Chicago, they have toppled the Gladiators!**

Daryl grinned massively at Patrick Kane, shooting forward to wrap his arms around him with a celebratory yell. The fans around the rink were going insane; all anyone could hear was _du du dudu du du du dududududududu_ as their fans screamed it. Toews joined the celebratory hug, and then Merle was there, and then Daryl saw the team vaulting over the sides onto the ice, moving for the Hawks to yell out together, to celebrate.

They were smiling, laughing, but Daryl’s face dropped when he saw Rick Grimes giving him one of the filthiest looks he had ever seen. The words he mouthed, something about _get_ and _you_ , made his heart fill with dread, and his nose gave a sharp stabbing pain.

He winced and skated backwards, out of the middle of the group, moving to the side of the rink to lean on the barricades

**This just in, Daryl Dixon is moving away from his team, he is skating off the ice – we know fans are worried about him, and he’s gone off, followed quickly by his brother, Merle, and he’s gone to the changing rooms.**

**There goes Toews, checking in on his team, and Kane is off the ice as well – Daryl and Patrick are very close, as you can see from their social media, they normally hang out – no doubt he’s worried for his friend.**

**It’s a 7-4 win for the Chicago Blackhawks. Thanks for tuning in. We’ll see you next time from Dallas. That’ll be the 17 th of December, when the Chicago Blackhawks plays the Dallas Stars in Texas.**

xox

“I don’t need to go to the fucking hospital, Jonathon!”

“Yes you do, you passed out!”

"Daryl, you need the hospital."

“I am _fine_ , Merle, Patrick. If I _need_ to, I’ll go tomorrow, Jonathon.”

“Daryl, can yer fer one listen to the damn Captain of the team!”

“I am listening, but I ain’t going to the fucking hospital, Merle. I’m going fer a shower. You guys go celebrate, yer deserve it. I’ll see yer guys tomorrow at training.” With a snarl, Daryl disappeared deeper into the changing rooms to grab his shower bag, and down to the shower room beyond.


	3. Chapter 3

Daryl tugged his hair down from its bobble, feeling more relaxed when his hair brushed over his shoulders. There was still a pounding in his head, but it was more of a secondary pain, and it was easily ignored as Daryl stripped down, breathing heavily. He grabbed the bottle of aspirin from his bag and carefully popped two, staring at the shower as he reached forward to turn it on. The hot water was a blessing and Daryl might have moaned as he stepped underneath the heavy stream of water. His muscles all began to unknot, and his body relaxed, loosening up under the warm water.

This was one of his happy places.

This was where Daryl could unwind, let his mind switch off, or go through every question he ever asked in his life, and he could just _relax_.

He leaned against the shower wall, letting his eyes close. The pounding in his head was gone, the sound of water was all he could hear and the lights flicked off.

 _The lights went off. The lights have a switch_.

Daryl shot upright, eyes opening, intently staring around into the darkness.

“Hello?”

His own voice echoed back to him.

“Kaner? Kaner, this isn’t funny. Seabs? Breadman? Come on guys, stop fucking around here.”

Still, there was no one Daryl could see and he tentatively turned the shower off. He stumbled around for his towel, finally finding it and wrapping it tightly around himself before he stepped out the shower booth, clearing his throat.

“Merle? Jonathan? If this is a trick to get me t’go to the damn hospital, I’ll go Jesus.”

A hand was around his mouth and Daryl shrieked, panicking as he tried to get away from the arms wrapping around his upper body. He kicked out, the lights going back on.

Rick Grimes walked into Daryl’s vision and he scowled, biting down hard on the hand over his mouth, turning to see Shane Walsh stumble back in pain.

“What the fuck are you two doing in here? Get the fuck back to yer own changing rooms.”

“See, we’ve showered, changed, had our team talks, and had a couple of drinks.”

“Why are yer here, just fuck off.”

For the first time in his hockey career, Daryl felt vulnerable. He realised the danger he was in, watching Rick and Shane circle him, like vultures watching their meat.

 _Damn it, Toews, this would be a great fucking time for ya to come and convince me t’go to the hospital. I’ll take the fucking hospital over this_.

“You see, Dixon, you got us in a lot of trouble with our Captain and our Coach. Shane here got a one game suspension, where I got a two game.”

“Shouldn’t have smashed my head into the ice then, ya fucktards. Piss off.”

His arms were wrenched behind his back and Daryl yelled out as his shoulder twisted, trying not to whine as he felt the bone pop out his shoulder. There was his game suspension.

“We don’t think you deserve to be on your team. We don’t think you deserve to be in the NHL. You suck at your job, you have a terrible game etiquette.” Rick gripped Daryl’s chin, forcing the other to look at him. “You’re country scum that needs to fuck off back to North Georgia and die up there. Get shot by your inbred Father when you go out hunting or some shit. Follow in your Mother’s footsteps.”

Daryl used Shane against Rick. He pushed himself back, lifting up into the man’s arms before he kicked Rick square in the jaw, smirking as he watching him fly to the floor, hitting the wall behind him.

“Don’t yer fucking dare say a bad word against my family, or my Mother.”

It was worth the yank his dislocated shoulder got.

“Daryl! Daryl hey, you finished in the shower? Breadman wants to go out to a few bars, do a crawl, and meet the fans. I know you hit your head, but do you wanna come?”

Daryl’s eyes flickered to the corridor that lead to the changing room, where he could hear Patrick. His arms were released and Daryl fell to his knees, Shane and Rick running from the room. He hesitated before sighing, looking down.

“Yea, no. I need to finish showering. You coming through?”

Patrick was already walking through the door, smiling until he saw Daryl’s shoulder.

“What happened?”

“Slipped and smashed my shoulder on the wall. Help me relocate it?”

Patrick winced but nodded, moving to help jar Daryl’s arms before they slipped into separate stalls, washing the dried sweat, and blood, in Daryl’s case, off of them before they left to get dressed.

xox

Daryl could _feel_ Jonathan’s disapproving glare as he went to order the drinks, feeling his Captain glaring straight at his back. Well sure, he should be going to the hospital, and sure, he should really get his twinging shoulder looked at, but he needed this.

His adrenaline was high from his run-in in the showers, and Patrick couldn’t be left alone. Well sure, it was Toews and Kaner all the time, but Jonathan had to look after his team when they went out and he couldn’t always control Patrick, which is why Daryl always saw to it that Patrick didn’t get too drunk and if he did, Daryl would take him back home, and sleep on his couch to make sure he didn’t get up to anything else... unsavoury.

The media had enough stories about his friend, and Daryl wasn’t going to let anything else get out.

A hand clapped onto the small of his back and Daryl froze, only to relax when Merle showed up next to his side, grinning.

“Yer told Kaner yet?”

“No. Fuck off.”

Daryl glanced around at the Blackhawks bar, full of their fans before giving his brother a meaningful look. He held his hands up and Daryl grabbed some of the drinks that were offered to him, Merle grabbing the rest before he went back to the table.

Patrick was sitting, staring at the warped wood of the table, picking absentmindedly at the graining.

Daryl could have sworn he felt his heart lurch, as he sat down next to him. Patrick looked up, with his too big smile, dimples in his cheeks and Daryl had to force himself to look away. The twisting in his stomach was there, the raw _attraction_ to Patrick was always bubbling away, every time they were on the ice, every time they hugged during celebration.

Every time Patrick was drunk and would whine, and ask Daryl to sleep in the bed with him because Patrick didn’t want to be lonely. Every single damn time, Daryl would slip under the covers and wrap his arm tightly around Patrick, hold the younger tightly to his chest, appreciate his warmth and gently nuzzle the back of his neck until his chest began to rise and fall evenly.

One time, Daryl had had near enough the same amount as Patrick, and Patrick’s whining plea had come up to him and Daryl had turned around and stared at him, only to retort _I’ll keep yer company fer the rest of yer life if y’all bid me to_. But Patrick had been asleep and Daryl had, shamefully, moved to collapse on the floor by the wardrobe, too drunk to care that Patrick’s cold wooden floor would injure his back and make morning practice tough.

Staring at him now, in the dim lights, Kane’s eyes bright, shining with the victory of the win, but dulled down with his worry for Daryl... Daryl stood sharply, spilling his drink down himself with a frown.

“I’m going fer a smoke.”

“I thought you quit?” Toews disapproving tone shot from across the table.

“I still smoke _occasionally_. And by that I mean one every two months or something like that.” To make his point, Daryl tugged his pack of cigarettes from his pocket, and held one in his mouth before he turned on his heel and stormed out the bar.

The noise level immediately went down, and the pounding in his head relented. He sparked his cigarette up and slowly let himself slide down the wall, running his spare hand through his hair.

Tears welled up in his eyes as he thought back on his Mother, on the damn fire – how the fuck did Walsh and Grimes even know about his Mother?

It wasn’t in any bio – it wasn’t on his or his brother’s Wikipedia pages, no one had mentioned it – goddamnit, Patrick was the only one who knew on the team.

He kicked a trash can, watching it roll down the alley before he closed his eyes.

Only to open them again when he was dragged to his feet by the scruff of his shirt eyes wide with fright as he stared at Rick Grimes.

“Right then. Time to get down to business.”

Daryl was thrown to the ground and he yelled out, rolling as best he could, only to find Shane’s shoe colliding with his already busted nose. A fresh burst of warm blood slipped down his face, causing him to choke on the irony taste.

Another foot collided with him, this time to his stomach, causing a rush of bile to come up. He forced his way to his knees, coughing up hard as the alcohol and granola bars he had came back up, splattering everywhere.

“The fucker got it on my leather shoes.”

An elbow slammed into the top of his spine, causing him to fall into his own vomit, before a kick sent him rolling down the alley.

“DARYL!”

Shane and Rick sprinted past him, yelling out. There was the sound of a slamming door and a car screeching and then Daryl saw Patrick collapse by his side, screaming for help.

The last thing he heard was Shaw screaming for someone to call an ambulance.


	4. Chapter 4

The soft beeping sounds of machines surrounded Daryl and slowly, his eyes opened into a dark, dimly lit room. Groaning softly, he turned his head to the side, seeing Patrick and Merle asleep against each other. Turning his head to the right, he saw Jonathan, awake, barely, typing something out on his phone, worry all over his face.

“Jon?”

His Captain looked up, eyes wide before he smiled weakly.

“Hey, Daryl. Good to see you awake.”

“What happened?”

“Some guys were kicking the shit out of you and Patrick disturbed them. They went running; the police are still looking for who it was. Do you have any idea?”

Daryl licked his lips and let his eyes move to stare at the ceiling. “None, sorry.”

Jonathan nodded and stood up, moving around the other side of the bed to wake Patrick and Merle up before smiling weakly at Daryl. “Go home, Toews. Get some sleep, you look exhausted.”

Patrick was already sitting on the side of the bed, silent, worry written all over his face, and Toews nodded, heading out of the room.

“Are you alright? How’s your head? Do you need a nurse?”

The worried chirp of words came from Patrick and Daryl smiled up at him, resting his hand on the other’s hip. He didn’t need to say anything, just rub his thumb across the other’s glimpse of skin where his shirt had ridden up.

Patrick blushed ever so slightly and cleared his throat, crossing his legs to sit on the bed. Daryl noticed his shoes were off, and he had changed into a tank top.

_Not surprising. This room is fucking boiling._

“Merle, would yer open a window? If I lay here in this heat any longer, I’ll cook.”

Merle grunted as he stood and moved across the room to unlock the window, pushing it open. The blast of air that shot in caused Daryl to smile and he relaxed more into the bed.

“Yer looked worried Kaner, what’s wrong?”

“You’d be the same if it were me in that bed.” Patrick gave a weak smile, moving to take Daryl’s hand. Daryl gave it a weak squeeze, watching Pat with soft eyes before they cut across to watch his brother standing at the end of the bed, a deep frown almost engrained on his face.

“Merle?”

“Yer know who did this t’ya.”

“Patrick... can mah brother and I have a moment?”

Patrick squeezed Daryl’s hand as hard as he dared before he stood up and headed out the room, making sure to shut the door on his way out.

“Why t’fuck are ya lying, Daryl? Yer know who did this. Who are ya protecting?”

“Mahself, Merle.”

Merle’s knuckles on the end of the bed were white, clenching tighter and tighter. “Tell me who fucking did this to ya.”

“Look, I’m already out the team for a while whilst I heal. Leave me alone. I don’t wanna report it; I just wanna get out of here, go home, and relax. _Leave_ it, Merle.”

The elder Dixon brother glared before he left the room, letting the door slam behind him.

xox

The next few days were a total blur for Daryl.

Nurses and doctors took him here, there and everywhere for scans and tests, blood work and reflex check before he was eventually told he could go home.

It was Patrick who helped him pack all of his stuff up; his right arm was in a sling, doctor ordered whilst his shoulder healed properly.

It had been Patrick by his side after every game and during most of the days.

Merle hadn’t come to see him since Daryl had told him to leave it, and the team were all busy with their own things. Sure, Brent had come to see him, so had Artemi, and Duncan, but it had been Patrick there almost non-stop since he had been admitted.

It was Patrick who walked him into his apartment, letting the elder lean on him before ditching Daryl’s bag by the couch.

“You got your pain meds?”

“I think I’m high on ‘em.”

Patrick chuckled as he helped Daryl sit down on the couch before he stretched, moving to stare out the window.

Daryl watched him intently, smiling before forcing himself to his feet and shakily moving over to lean on the wall next to him.

“Yer alright?”

“I’m just worried about you.”

“I’m alive. Don’t.”

“I heard what Merle said. Why are you lying about it?”

Daryl’s head tilted back and he stared at his ceiling, staring at the mark on the plaster that had been left by Brent.

_“Seabs, don’t wave a fucking hockey stick around in my apartment!”_

_“Relax, old timer, nothing’s going to-”_

_“Sure. Sure, nothing’s gonna happen other than the fact yer just stuck a **hockey stick through mah fucking ceiling**_.”

“Daryl, don’t you trust me?”

“Rick Grimes and Shane Walsh.”

He ignored Patrick’s facial expression; a mixture of shock, anger and worry. He forced himself to keep staring at the mark.

“From the Gladiators? Daryl, you have to tell someone!”

“I just told ya, didn’t I?”

Daryl gave him a disapproving frown before he moved over to sit down on his couch, leaning over as much as his twinging shoulder would allow him to. “They cornered me in the showers. They were the ones that did mah shoulder in. I never slipped and hit the wall. Walsh yanked my arm back, tugged it out of place.”

Patrick walked around the apartment and Daryl kept his stare on the floor.

“Daryl.”

The elder didn’t respond, preferring to stare at the floor, dreading whatever might come out of Patrick’s mouth. The right winger moved to crouch in front of Daryl, trying to catch his gaze.

“Alright, listen to me. I won’t tell anyone that you told me, okay? My advice as a professional player and a team mate, is to tell someone so that they don’t do it to someone else, and hurt another hockey player. I mean, what’s to say that next time they won’t end someone’s career by accident?”

Daryl shrugged, only to hiss in pain, clenching his eyes close.

“My advice as a friend? You should at least tell your brother.”

“Merle will beat the living shit out of them and get arrested.”

Patrick sighed and moved in to hug Daryl as tightly as he dared to. Daryl’s left arm looped around the taller, relishing how close the other was. He could feel tears pricking up as the whole situation finally dawned on him.

Where he lived in Chicago was on Wikipedia. It was in his Blackhawks bio. They could come back at any moment.

 _God, I’ve never felt so fucking vulnerable in my life before_.

“Daryl..?”

Patrick had leant back and was gently wiping away the tears from his friend’s face, concern written all over it.

“Do you want me to stay?”

“I’d really appreciate that.”

Patrick smiled and nodded, moving to sit on the couch with Daryl, letting the elder cry into his shoulder.


	5. Chapter 5

Daryl woke up to find himself in almost pitch blackness. Sitting up with a jolt, he hissed as his shoulder groaned at the sudden movement. Glancing around in the dark room, he moved to stand up, only to fall back on to the couch with a yell as someone yelped.

He reached for the light beside his couch, only for it to turn on and Patrick to glare up at him.

“I stayed here to look after you and you _stand_ on me?!”

“Hey, I forgot yer were here.”

Patrick looked insulted for the merest second before he stood up, stretching a little before he disappeared into the kitchen, turning the lights on as he went.

“Why are yer sleeping on mah floor?”

Daryl rose an eyebrow, staring at the mess of sheets and hoodies on the floor – _of course, Kaner uses his old hoodies he leaves here as a sheet_ – before turning his head to watch Patrick out the corner of his eye.

“You had the couch.”

“I have a bedroom and two guest rooms.”

“I. I prefer the floor.”

“Patrick, I know your vocal tells, don’t lie t’me.”

The kitchen went silent other than the kettle boiling, and the sound of Patrick closing drawers and getting cups out the cupboards.

“Kaner.”

There was still no reply, and Daryl stood up, stalking through to his kitchen.

“ _Patrick_.”

The younger slowly turned around, crossing his arms as he leant on the work surface behind him. Daryl noticed how he wasn’t letting their eyes meet and he frowned, walking forward to slowly cup Patrick’s chin, leaning his head up.

“Hey,” he made sure his tone was soft, _dripping_ with concern. “Talk to me, what’s wrong?”

_Hell, guilt tripping him probably ain’t the best way to go, but fuck it._

“I uh. It’s nothing. I just. I don’t wanna lose you as a friend, Daryl.”

“Hey, you can tell me anything, Patrick; you ain’t gonna lose me. Rather resign from the team than walk away from yer.”

Patrick licked his lips before sighing, slumping even further down the kitchen side.

“I like a guy.”

Daryl tilted his head, letting his hand drop from his side. “Yer think I’m gonna walk away because yer got a crush on a guy?” He snorted and tugged Patrick in for a weak hug, kissing the top of his head. “He on the team?”

Patrick nodded slowly, his hands looped around Daryl’s back.

“Is it Jonny?”

“No, god no, Jonny is like a brother to me, Daryl.”

Daryl swallowed slowly, his heart starting to thump against his chest. Hope was rising in his mind and he had to force himself to take a breath.

“Seabs?”

“Nah.”

“Panarin?”

“Nyet.”

“Scott?”

“It’s you.”

“Core- wait.”

Daryl leaned back to stare at Patrick for a moment, eyes wide. A fierce blush was crossing the younger’s face, and he looked as though he might burst into tears at any second. Daryl licked his lips, trying to process the information before he cleared his throat.

“Patrick-”

“I’m sorry, I know, I should have stayed quiet, I’m _sorry_ and if you want me to leave I completely understand.” The right winger had turned around quickly, busying himself with putting hot chocolate powder into the mugs he had out.

“Who hurt you?”

Patrick glanced back, shaking slightly. “An old high school crush.”

Daryl’s arm looped around Patrick’s waist and he leaned up to kiss his cheek. “Well, don’t think yer gotta apologise to me, Kaner; Jesus, I been crushing on yer since ’09.”

Patrick stiffened before he glanced back, eyes wide. “Are you...”

“Yea, I’m serious. I wouldn’t lie ‘bout something like this. Been waiting t’find out if yer like me or not for ages. Merle was just about ready to set us up on a blind date, fer god’s sake.”

Patrick shifted around, eyes slightly watery as he took in all the information.

“Is that why you and Merle would glance at me when having your private conversations?”

“Merle was trying to convince me to talk t’you. I couldn’t do it fer the life of me. I would have rather kept yer as a friend and say nothing rather than say something and lose ya. Didn’t wanna risk it.”

Patrick was smiling weakly, moving to take a breath, licking his lips.

Daryl was about to ask what he was planning, noticing the mischievous glint in the other’s eyes, before the next thing he registered was Patrick’s lips on his.

His eyes widened for a moment before Daryl held the other tightly, hand moving to wrap in his hair, kissing back hard, as though his life depended on it. Patrick’s hands moved, one of them to fist in Daryl’s too-long hair, and the other to fist in the back of his shirt.

They kept going, lips moving against each other before teeth began scraping against each other, their tongues battling for dominance, before the sound of the kettle finishing its boil had Patrick leaning back.

His eyes were wide, blown, and Daryl had to stop himself from snorting.

“Yer got a good pair o’ lips on ya.”

“Shut up.”

He was blushing again, moving to pour the hot water into the mugs. Daryl took the mug offered to him, sipping the boiling liquid. Patrick moved to put some cold water in his before he sipped his own.

Daryl quickly put his own mug down, grasping hold of Patrick’s wrist.

The right winger blushed as he saw the glint in Daryl’s eyes before he immediately put his mug down, following through to one of the guest rooms.

xox

Patrick was careful as he clambered off of Daryl, collapsing into his side, panting. He blushed as Daryl grabbed a rag to remove Patrick’s fluids from his chest before he tugged the younger onto his chest.

“You know... I could get used to this.”

“Yer gonna have to do the work. Doctor told me not to put too much weight on mah shoulder, and not to do too much strenuous activity.”

Patrick laughed brightly as he rolled over to stare at the ceiling, resting his head over Daryl’s chest, making sure not to jog the arm still secured there.

“Patty...”

The blond looked up, smiling softly. “Mm?”

“D’ya maybe wanna go on a date with me tomorrow? Obviously, we gotta keep this from the media but... if we just chill in a coffee shop after yer’ve been a practice, it’ll look like two friends just hanging out.”

Patrick rolled over with a smile, leaning in to kiss Daryl softly before he settled, arm resting over the other’s abs.

“I’d love to do that.”

Daryl smiled, rubbing his good hand over Patrick’s back before he let his eyes close.

Both men fell asleep within minutes, curled against each other.


End file.
